


wings for holding

by Atlasfreak



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, CHAT IS CANON, Dadza, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Older Siblings Wilber Soot and Technoblade, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Adopts Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Siren Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, Toby Smith | Tubbo and Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), i can't tag oh my fukc, merling wilbur soot, phil is a good dad, phil just adopts EVERYONE man. its great, sbi, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, this is what i work on in class lol, yeah thats good fuck it tags scare me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlasfreak/pseuds/Atlasfreak
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a man who could hold the galaxy with his wings. Great and white, or soft and grey, or majestic black. He finds the stars, the moon, the sun, the comets, and the planets everywhere from the sea to the skies, and somehow, they always come to rest in his galaxy.Alternatively,How'd Phil get so many goddamned children?
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, all the phil and children tags, ill add more for more chapters i guess?, we're going in for the long haul boys
Comments: 10
Kudos: 133





	1. the stars

**Author's Note:**

> i am the writing boy, i write the writings, i forget to post the writings, i write the writes. i am the writing boy.

A long time ago, a man with wings that could hold the stars stepped into a forest.

  
Enchantment shines sweet on shiny armor cut from diamond. In the pouring rain, his footprints got washed away before his feet left the dirt, and the squelch of boots in mud was drowned out by the downfall.

  
The man is Philza.

The child hiding behind a tree is Wilbur Soot.

  
Of course, Philza doesn't realize there's a boy watching him. He wouldn't even imagine it could be so. He's never seen another human - a sentient human, that is - in all his years, he's not seen a _trace_ of another player. Just him and phantoms- in this world, all he knows in this world are mindless mobs and greedy villagers and the End. And yet, mere feet away where he can't see the fluffy brown hair or glowing eyes, coffee brown and scared, there's a perfectly normal human being sitting under a maple tree.

  
Well, normal save for fins and scales and _actually_ glowing eyes. That's not very human.

  
The boy squints. His vision is blurry in the rain, or maybe in general, but he sees well enough to be certain - he doesn't know who this is. He didn't think there were more people. Just mindless mobs and greedy villagers and the sea. And yet, there's a perfectly normal human being standing out there in the rain.

  
Well, normal save for warm white wings - like steam, frost meeting fire. That's not very human either.

  
Wilbur Soot sees Philza. Philza doesn't see Wilbur Soot.

  
When the rain ends, Wilbur will die. That's what he had seen, at least. When the ocean creatures come on land, they do not come back down under. The drowned men burn and the fish choke on nothing. He can only imagine what will happen to him without the heavy clouds.

  
Wilbur is desperate.

  
Wilbur takes a chance.

  
"Hello."  
And see, Philza doesn't know what to think. A little boy most unnatural, with a tail almost like a whale's and dark scales that shine blue and green and yellow like obsidian in the sun, fins nearly opaque but not quite, and intelligence in his eyes. Human, but so very not.

  
"I'm lost. Can you help me?" His voice is unused and shy and just melodic enough to be peculiar.

  
Philza _really_ doesn't know what to think.

  
"Where are you trying to go, mate?"

  
"The water."

  
"The water?"

  
"Like a lake. Or a river," the child finally makes eye contact- they're like a human's, but the iris is much bigger and the pupils are a cat's slits.

  
Phil sighs. He offers a hand -what a waste of a thunderstorm, but the voices demand he help the little fish boy. They're loud, and they hurt his ears. And maybe he wants to see the boy safe as much as the chattering whispers do.

  
"Come with me. I'll take you home."

  
Watching the boy swim away is lackluster. He just squirms out of Phil's arms and is gone before Phil could call for him.

He wipes his hands off and stares. And he goes home. Simple as that. He's gone, that's the end of it.

He goes about his day, he collects the scrap iron from the iron golem farm, makes more fireworks, and then goes to work in the End, as he usually does.

  
And a few days later, it's raining again. It's early morning when Phil wakes up, and the drizzle greets him kindly. Spring is coming quick and hard, and there's a fish boy at Phil's door.  
"Come in?" is all Phil can say, but the boy grabs his wrist and he takes the winged man out and away. Phil hasn't even smoothed out his feathers, hadn't even combed through his hair; he's a fluffed up, half asleep mess, and now he's sitting at the seashore, where the fish boy sits in the tide, facing him. The waves hit his scaled back and the sun rises behind him. They shine against his fins, he looks almost ethereal. He might as well be - Phil has never seen someone like him before. Not a fish, not a siren. A humanoid, sentient child.

Sitting in front of him. Sitting in the sun, in the waves. 

  
Phil stares up at the sky, then to the sand, then finally back at Wilbur. Wilbur stares back. Phil can't stand the silence- he swipes at the water, splashing the strange child. He giggles and splashes back.

  
"There we go," Phil says, "Now, what are you doing back here, mate?"

  
"You helped me."

  
"I did, yes."

  
Wilbur slides forward a seashell, a gastropod seashell. It's gorgeous, really, smooth and pale with black and brown swirls cutting through the white, like a ravine cut through sand. Wilbur nudges it closer and closer until Phil finally takes it and then the boy smiles. "I'm Wilbur, by the way. Wilbur... Soot, I think. Wilbur Soot."

"I'm Philza."

"Mm. Philza what?"

Phil turns the shell over in his hands. "Nothing. Just Philza. Or Phil."

The child moves to stare back at the sea. "That's boring."

"What are you doing out here on land, Wilbur?"

"I wanted to say thank you," Wilbur glances back. "I would've done it earlier, but I had to find the perfect shell. Do you like it?"

"It's a very nice shell, yes."

They talk there, on the shore. They talk until til it turns dark and the phantoms come for Phil. And the next day, Wilbur is sitting on the beach again, criss cross in the tides, and again Phil comes to talk with him, and again they talk until the moon comes out, and again the phantoms have to chase Phil away.

And every day, Phil will sit in the water and spend the first hours of his day talking to the strange child he met in the woods, and then they will go off on their own paths until the next morning.

But, well, as goes time, one day the tides will freeze and the snow will stop them from talking in the sand. And on that day, Wilbur will brave the dry air and he'll find the lungs used to nothing instead of the gills used to everything, and he'll take a step out of the water and breathe cold, dry air, and Wilbur will be safe and warm and wrapped in blankets and drinking something sweet and frothy that he's never heard of before and Phil will ruffle his hair fondly and he will sit by the fire.

Phil will show him music, and Phil will show him writing. Phil will one day stop calling him a friend and start calling him a son. Wilbur will one day teach Phil how to find the best shells and how to find treasure chests hidden in the waves. For now, they will spend the winter swaddled in blankets and pouring over books of adventures and dimensions Wilbur longs to see, and Phil will smile and say "One day I'll take you there."

It's always been said that all good things must come to an end- this is more like a start. Because even when the frost melts and the fish wake up, Wilbur will stay in the warm house with the warm man and the warm white wings that could hold all the stars in the sky, and Philza's galaxy starts with Wilbur Soot.


	2. the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter the Blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished this a week ago but i despise revising so  
> a lil late.

A long time ago, a man with wings that could hold the moon stepped into hell.

  
Swirling purple, almost like water, slips off bold gray feathers as he shivers- there's no getting used to the cold, liquid feeling of a portal, or the blistering heat that greets him when he opens his eyes to nothing but red and gray.

  
The Nether is no place for Wilbur - or any child, really. But Philza is not a child.

He pays no mind to the screaming spirits that float on nothing and none to the animated corpses with little pig tails, none to the decaying bodies who move without a heartbeat, none for the shiny skulls and empty sockets. He pays no mind to the demons that roam the crimson forests, nor his own lost subjects roaming in trees blue - the only splash of a kind color in a monochrome world of fire and brimstone.

He likes it better this way - not a care in the world as he flies through stalactites and lava streaming from the roof, his so- _Wilbur_ safe at home in the Overworld night. Hidden under warm blankets, hidden from phantoms. 

He would _prefer_ it to stay that way - peaceful - but you can't get peaceful in the Underworld.

So it should be obvious that the Nether has other plans.

He runs out of fireworks. 

Without the explosive boosts, Phil will fall. His wings weren't built like a proper bird's - he relied on gliding. But it's no big deal, he'll just land and grab some more rockets out of a shulker box. 

He drops down at just the border between a crimson forest and the barren, empty wasteland of rock stretching between the red trees and the eerie cyan ones.

He stares at them for a moment- the Warped trees, the endermen roaming the woods they corrupted. He cringes, turns away.

New fireworks in hand, Phil goes to put away his shulker, but he hears the thorns on his armor squeal their Guardian's squeal. He looks around. The thorns squeak again. He looks down.

There's a baby piglin, glaring at him. It hits him a third time.

Phil would've killed it like any other piglin, and believe him, he did try, but it runs. It _runs_. 

Piglins don't run. They attack over and over until they win or die trying.

But this one _runs_.

The winged man whips around, trying to slash at the little thing, but it ducks under his sword and dives into the sea of feathers along his spine, climbing up his back and slamming the hilt of its shitty gold sword over Phil's head like it'll do any damage.

Phil freezes, waiting, then swirls around and plucks the child off, holding it from a distance like an ugly baby.

The piglin isn't ugly, though, it's rather cute. Phil knows it would grow up to be the same scarred brute as the ones roaming the forest, but for now it has a round, downy face and and little tusks sticking out of its mouth and ears too big for its head and angry, blank white eyes.

"Aw," Phil decides, and the voices agree, "He's kinda cute. What're you doing, little piggy mate?"

The child screams.

Phil's first reaction is confusion, and then a quiet panic. Other piglins will hear, and other piglins will come running. Phil would rather not deal with the whole Nether coming to whack him with swords.

He squawks at the idea and spins around, sword ready, piglin baby still dangling from his hand by the fur on its neck. 

And he does see more piglins, yes, glowing eyes and shiny tusks staring at him from behind trees, but-

But they don't approach. 

They're almost.. apprehensive.

Not of Phil, he knows. Piglins attack him the moment they notice him, and he does hear the familar creak of an arrow being loaded into a crossbow, but there's no movement. Not even a hoglin.

Phil turns to stare at the child. The child glares back.

"Are they scared of you?"

It doesn't react.

"Aww, but you're just a little bab. Why would they be scared of a little bab?"

The child tries to bite him.

Phil laughs. The piglins shy further. They're scared of it, they're definitely scared of it. They behave the same way around the warped trees. They're scared of this little tiny thing. What a joke. 

"You're a pretty weird little pig. What should we do with him, chat?"

It kicks at him, cloven hooves battering at his arm, but Phil simply stands listening to whispering voices, gaze never leaving the piglin. His eyes narrow. 

Its ears droop.

The thing lays there, limply, held up by its scruff like a wet kitten.

"I mean, it's a baby," he points out to his chorus. "The others don't want anything to do with it. It'll probably die to a hoglin, or hunger. Should I take it home?"

It's an astounding, echoing, _loud_ yes from the voices.

Phil draws the piglin close to him and unfolds his wings. If not starstruck by the great gray feathers, the baby would've surely tried to claw his heart out or something. Even now, Phil doesn't trust that he won't get mauled by sharp hooves the moment the piglin remembers that _he_ is not a piglin.

He throws a rocket at the ground and jumps.

Again, the child screams.

It's not a human scream. By no means is it a human scream. It's a voicebreaking, dry screech. Phil pities the child's throat more and more with every second that the child continues.

It clings to Phil for dear life as he soars, squawking like a frantic pigeon every time a firework goes off.

Soon, he's landing before a portal and the child stops wailing. But it continues to sniffle, and Phil imagines if water could exist in this hellscape dimension, it would be crying. 

He doesn't quite know how to calm it.

It's a _piglin_. Piglins are very different to people. Then again, _Wilbur_ is very different to people - Wilbur is a merling. He knows Wilbur calms down when he combs through his hair, and this little piglin doesn't quite have _hair_ , but...

He scratches behind its ears. 

The piglin jumps and tries to snarl, but Phil continues softly petting it like it's a baby critter. Well, it _is_ a baby critter. 

Eventually its death grip on Phil's shirt loosens and it melts in his arms, rumbling contently like a cat. Its eyes are still narrowed and it still tries to be angry, but it's calm. That's all Phil needs.

It's only when he's sitting on the floor, chittering like a bird and comforting a shaking little piglin, that he remembers something very, very important.

_Crimson forest mobs can't go through Nether portals._

If he were to bring the tiny creature through the liquid purple, it would die on the other side. It would rot from the inside out - zombified and braindead.

Phil lifts the child up from his lap to his arms, looking around for an idea, inspiration. Something he can do. Maybe a little hut in the Nether? It sees the portal, glowing faintly, and it puts a hand through,

Phil pulls it back sharply and it squeals at the bitter cold of the portal water, or maybe the chilly air on the other side. Regardless, it flails and bites Phil, _bites._ him. The winged man squeaks and lets go. The child squirms out of his arms and hits the ground - it looks around, it sees no exit, and it jumps through the portal.

Phil feels his heart drop, and he follows.

_(_ ~~_But this isn't a regular old mob, now is it?)_ ~~

  
He opens his eyes just in time to hear the squeak of pressure plates and just in time to see the door shut.

He hurries after.

The chill of the Overworld night is almost startling, _frosty,_ Phil can't stop to shiver. He has to find the-

Oh.

The piglin child is sitting in the grass, holding something - a little writhing rabbit. The piglin turns to look at Phil, eyes shining in delight.

Phil shakes off his surprise - _a whole rabbit. A baby, but a whole rabbit! -_ and sits beside it, wrapping a wing around its shaking little body. He knows what the shaking is, he knows it brings death. He knows the Overworld air will kill the Nether child. The child squeaks angrily when the rabbit kicks its way out of furry pink arms and runs, but the piglin begins playing instead with the grass, similar to the red fields it's used to in crimson forests.

Phil waits for the inevitable.

It doesn't come.

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispers. He snaps his fingers at the piglin and stands. The child snorts as its feathery blanket leaves and tries to grab the wing back, missing the warmth the gray down brought.

Phil lets it wrap his wings around itself, still waiting for the moment the light drains out of its blank eyes, but it _still_ doesn't come.

"You're a really interesting little thing," Phil tells it. It chirps at him - that's a new sound - and holds its grass up to him, former aggression almost forgotten by curiosity. 

Phil reaches for the grass. It growls and bats his hand away. Phil laughs. "Why'd you hold it up to me, then?"

He takes a step, moving slowly, quietly towards the baby, like approaching a frightened cat - its eyes narrow as the grass flies out of its hands.

It turns to glare as Phil inches closer, squeals when Phil grabs it under the arms and lifts it up to hold it against his chest. It bites him again- Phil hisses as he feels skin break, but he carries the snarling piglin inside regardless. 

Phil passes Wilbur's room and he sees the wide yellow eyes through the crack of the door - Phil flashes a very brief smile, everything's _fine_ , and he places the struggling child on his bedroom floor. It jumps at him - he shuts, locks the door. He immediately hears it scratching against the door & hooved hands shaking the doorknob.

"Papa?" 

Phil glances up. Wilbur is in the hall now, tail flicking nervously.

"What'd you call me?"

"Papa, who's that? Why are you bleeding?"

"I found a very interesting piglin in the Nether," Phil explains. _Papa?_ "It jumped through the portal and hasn't died. It bit me." Wilbur tries to slip behind Phil to open the door, but Phil blocks him with a wing.

"Phil, I think he's lonely."

"He _bit_ me, Wilbur. And I don't even know if it's a he."

"Did you kidnap him?"

"Er- well, you can't go in there yet."

Wilbur giggles. He turns and knocks on the door. "Piglin boy! My name is Wilbur, what's your name?" 

The piglin snorts from the other side.

"Wil, I'm gonna go grab some bandages. Do _not_ open that door."

"Yes, Phil," Wilbur sighs. He turns to stare at him. " _Papa._ "

"Don't get smart with that name, Wil," Phil calls. "I'll revoke your right to say it."

Wil beams and leans against the door. "Piglin boy, that's Philza. He's really cool. He helped me and now I live here. I don't know why he took you home, but I don't think the Nether seems very fun. You'll like it here."

The piglin thunks against the door. 

Wilbur squawks. "Woah, woah, woah, don't do that, you'll get hurt!"

The door shakes again. The piglin snorts.

"Phil! The piglin is gonna break the door!"

Wilbur hears the familiar beat of wings and suddenly the door creaks open and Phil is slipping into the room. Wil slides in after him and he gives the fish boy a weary look.

The piglin charges against the door again, slamming it shut. He steps on the hem of his ragged, baggy hoglinskin clothes and falls on his snout with a snarl. Phil picks him up and wraps him back up in his wings, pulling a golden carrot out of his inventory. 

"Hiya, mate."

"Iyh, met," the piglin mocks. Phil sighs.

Wilbur bounces with excitement. "Do you think he could learn English, Phil?" Phil wraps a wing around his shoulders, trying to still him. "He could be my brother!"

"Woah, woah, woah, Wil-"

"Oah, oah, oah, miw."

Phil turns to glare. 

The piglin glares back.

"I don't know, Wil," Phil tells Wilbur, "I'm an End boy, I don't know much about Nether mobs. Don't get any hopes up."

"Won et enee oms um."

Wilbur claps. "Can you say my name? Say Wilbur?"

"Riwrur."

"Wilbur!" He repeats. "Say it right!"

"Riwrur."

"Wil," Wilbur says slowly, " _bur._ "

"Riw," the piglin responds, " _rur._ "

Wilbur huffs. "What about.. Philza."

"Riwra."

"Philza. _Philza."_

The piglin growls. Phil grabs him again as he tries to squirm out of his arms, and he screeches. "Don't provoke him, Wilbur. He can, will, and has bitten people. "

"I like him. Can we keep him?"

Phil sighs and pulls the mob close to him again, wrapping his wings around his arms. He chirps as the feathers tickle his nose and tries to grab them.

"I don't know." Phil unfurls his wing and the piglin might as well have stars in his eyes. It squeaks and follows the great limbs to Phil's back, to where a mane of feathers poke out from his back.

It connects the dots.

_The soft warm things come from the green man._

This ferocious piglin - having earned fear from its peers before even growing his tusks - chirps _(chirps!)_ and reaches for Phil.

"Maybe." Phil's eyes soften. "Maybe we'll keep him."

And when he learns to copy how they speak, the child picks the name _Technoblade._

**Author's Note:**

> why do schoolwork when you can do a different work amirite


End file.
